


Flesh Wound

by Mochas N Mayhem (KoohiiCafe)



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Long live Ginger Ale as Whiskey, Whiskey is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 01:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoohiiCafe/pseuds/Mochas%20N%20Mayhem
Summary: “It’s just a flesh wound,” he whispered tersely, his voice sharper than he’d meant it to be, but hell if it didn’t sting. He couldn’t let that show in his voice though, not if he had a chance in hell of convincing Whiskey that he was fine and that a rescue wasn’t needed.Nevermind that the throwing knife embedded painfully deep into his thigh was definitelynotjust a flesh wound, or that he didn’t have a clue how he was going to get out of his current situation. What his partner didn’t know…“I’m coming in,” Whiskey answered, and Tequila grimaced. Dammit.





	Flesh Wound

**Author's Note:**

> So this is for the [30 Wounds meme](http://pantequilasunrise.tumblr.com/post/167472879092/30-wounds-meme-give-me-a-prompt-and-a-ship-andor) on tumblr; Anonymous sent me a request for, ' _1 (It’s just a flesh wound), Tequila and/or Whiskey_.' Aaaaand, this is what popped into my head. Which, is Tequila and Ginger!Whiskey so, it mostly fits, right? XD

“It’s just a flesh wound,” he whispered tersely, his voice sharper than he’d meant it to be, but _hell_ if it didn’t sting like a mother fucker. He couldn’t let that show in his voice though, not if he had a chance in hell of convincing Whiskey that he was fine and that a rescue wasn’t needed.

Nevermind that the throwing knife embedded painfully deep into his thigh was definitely _not_ just a flesh wound, or that he didn’t have a clue how he was going to get out of his current situation. What his partner didn’t know…

“ _I know that tone in your voice, Tequila,_ ” the other agent answered, the words even sharper than his own had been, and he grimaced. Dammit.

“I’m _fine_ , Whiskey. I am _ordering_ you to stay put, d’ya hear me?”

Whiskey snorted, uncharacteristically inelegant, in his ear, and replied, “ _I don’t remember putting you in charge of this mission._ ”

“ _You_ didn’t,” he countered shortly, “but _Champ_ did.”

“ _Champ assigned us **both** to this mission_ ,” was the rejoinder. “ _I’m coming in_.”

Tequila just barely kept from thunking his head back against the desk he was using as both hiding place and cover, and hurriedly hissed, “Don’t you _dare_. I am _not_ letting you unnecessarily put yourself in the line of fire for _my_ sake.”

“ _I’m not_ ,” came her clipped answer, and this time it was _his_ turn to snort. Whiskey ignored him, and continued, “ _I’m **necessarily** putting myself in the line of fire for the sake of the **mission**._ ”

And, before he could protest again, he heard the sharp retort of gunfire off to the east end of the building. Outside the room he’d hidden himself in, there was a sudden flurry of swearing and a loud clatter of footsteps as the guns-for-hire that had been looking for him went running towards his partner.

 _Shit_.

Whiskey was going to get herself shot on her first damn mission, and it was going to be _his_ fault.

Champ was gonna kill him.

He waited, until he could no longer hear footsteps, until the sound of gunfire to the east sounded like it had multiplied at least tenfold, before trying to shove his way out from under the desk. It was a mistake, because the first movement of his injured leg sent pain searing hotly from where the knife was still embedded in his thigh, and this time he _did_ thunk his head back against the desk as he hissed sharply. Shit. Shit, fuck, damn, _blast_. That fucking _hurt_.

He could remove the knife, and it would be easier to move, wouldn’t hurt nearly as much- but given how deep the damned thing had cut, he knew that the moment he pulled it out, the slow yet steady trickle of blood from the wound would flood out like a burst dam. Which meant the knife stayed. And he had to move anyway. He _had_ to get out there, make sure he didn’t let Whiskey get shot on her first damned mission, or end up with a knife embedded somewhere in her like he had. Cause while the new clothes they’d started to receive as the Brits back in London got their tailor shop back in business _were_ bulletproof, they _weren’t_ knife proof. As he’d found out first hand.

Steeling himself for another attempt, Tequila tried to push away from the desk again. He was more prepared for the pain this time, and he pushed through it, forcing himself out from under the desk and then dragging himself to his feet. He refused to let the pain stop him, even as every step on his injured leg sent another shock of it searing through him. Instead, he hobbled to the door of the office, then out into the empty, abandoned hallways and towards the sound of gunfire.

Gunfire that was slowly, worriedly, beginning to slow. That _damned_ well better be because Whiskey was shooting them all down, not because anything had happened to _her_.

By the time he reached the main lobby of the building, slowed infinitely by his painfully hobbled pace, the gunfire had gone completely silent. The scene he found waiting for him, as he leaned heavily against the open doorway leading to the lobby, stole his breath away.

Really, something in the back of his mind whispered, he shouldn’t have worried. He _knew_ how talented Whiskey was- she’d kicked his ass plenty of times while he’d been helping her train up physically, helping her build up the muscle and fighting skills that she hadn’t needed as Ginger Ale, but definitely needed now- and the spread of dead goons-for-hire scattering the lobby was even further proof.

As was the way she was looking up at him now, concern bright in her eyes, and then she was darting precisely through the field of bodies to get to his side.

“I’m fine, Whiskey,” Tequila said preemptively, even knowing it was no use, knowing that he damn well wasn’t ‘fine’ and that Whiskey would in no way just accept his word. And she didn’t, because she was crouching down the moment she caught sight of the blade protruding from his thigh. He braced himself against the wall behind him, letting her go through a quick examination of the wound. He was completely unsurprised by her clipped,

“You’re _not_ fine. I’m taking you back to the jet; you have what we came for, right?”

“The information is safe and sound,” he said, patting the pocket of his jacket. Whiskey nodded.

“Good. Let’s get you home and patched up then.” Then she was standing, and they were doing an awkward shuffle as she moved beneath one of his arms to help support him. Which, would have been a hell of a lot easier if she hadn’t been more than half a foot shorter than him, but they got it figured within a minute. As they began slowly shuffling towards the door, she added, “And Tequila?”

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing down. Her eyes were sharp, narrow, and it felt like she could pin him in place with that look. It was the kind of look she’d had even before she became Whiskey, when she was Ginger Ale, the kind where she could make him feel like a little kid who’d done something wrong and was about to get a hand slapped for it. It made him squirm internally, and grimace, because he _knew_ he wasn’t going to like whatever she was about to say, even as he also knew that whatever she was about to say was probably justified. She continued,

“The next time you lie to me and tell me that you’re ‘fine,’ just because you don’t want to put me in danger? You and I are going to have a Talk.”

“Understood, ma’am,” he answered quickly, the snapped reply instinctive, whether he was technically the senior agent or not. She smiled, just the tiniest upquirk of the corner of her lips, in response, and let it go at that.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're on tumblr, ~~you can find me at[MakethWoman](http://makethwoman.tumblr.com).~~ I am currently taking a little vacation and chilling over at [PanTequilaSunrise](http://pantequilasunrise.tumblr.com). Feel free to come say hi!


End file.
